I have to admit that
whenever I’m bored, one of my go-to “this’ll-distract-me” instincts is to pull
out my phone. Of course, it doesn’t always work, and I have at times caught
myself looking at something on my phone, still being bored at it, or frustrated
at how slowly something’s loading, and realizing that my left hand is
instinctively reaching down to my pocket to take out… my phone. Forgetting what
I’m doing makes me think that something’s going to satisfy me that isn’t, in
this case that isn’t even there. We so often reach for what is ultimately
unsatisfying when we forget what we’re doing, forget who we are.
That’s been
part of the human story since Eve and Adam.
That’s what happened when they got ensnared by the voice that said: “you
need this fruit. This is what’ll satisfy
you; you need this fruit to become like God.”
The serpent’s voice could only have triggered action if they’d already
forgotten who they were, forgotten that they were created in the image and
likeness of God, that God’s own breath had been breathed into their nostrils in
a life-giving loving act of messy intimacy.
They were like God! They were
created as the glory of creation, as the ones who were to tend the good garden
God had made to nourish them, the co-workers in God’s creative action, walking
in unquestioned harmony with each other, with creation and with God, always
dependent, always delighting in their dependence (on each other, on God),
always trusting, never anxious.
The serpent
sows a seed of worry, the first such seed in this good garden. And they forget who they are: “you’re not
like God, not yet! You’re dependent, go
on, take your life into your own hands, take this fruit… that’s what you need,
that’s what’ll satisfy you.” It’s a
lying voice. It’s a voice that misunderstands likeness to God as how to do with
independence and power, rather than with loving relationships, which for us
look like trusting dependence. The
serpent is the first figure in all of scripture to talk about God in the third person, rather than to God or with God. He’s the first person to do God-talk, to do
theology, absent a posture of prayer. He
creates this anxiety, this worry, the creatures begin to doubt their true
identity, their likeness to God, and then the serpent offers the fruit that
seeks to overcome worry about self by undermining God, when only God can truly
handle our worries and fears. That’s the
true sin here: to doubt our likeness to God, and to try to take our lives, our
worries into our hands and seek a way out of them through a quick fix, a distracting
phone or some forbidden fruit.
Jesus shows
us there’s another way. He shows us what it looks like be a human who remembers
who he is. And St. Paul is clear here: the legacy of Christ outweighs that of
Adam. Justification and life triumph
over sin and death. Adam need not drag
us down; Christ can lift us up.
Satan
tempts Jesus. “You say you’re the son of God, that you’re beloved, that you’re
so powerful, yet here you are, on your own, hungry in a desert. I can make you
much more god-like, just worship me and you’ll have power over every kingdom in
the world, you’ll be magnificent.” But, Jesus remembers who he is, remembers
his true sonship. He certainly remembers his dependency on God, his trust that
God will feed him, that there’s no need for a showy miracle that only feeds himself
and delights Satan. No, Jesus trusts in his divine sonship enough to be ready
to hunger with us at that time, and perform a miracle to feed us later. He
remembers what the Temple is for, the place of praise and worship and sacrifice
to God, and refuses to use it to aggrandize himself at that time. Later, he’ll
go there to drive out the money-changers and invite all to pray there. Later
still, the Spirit he sends will dwell in us and make us that Temple. He
remembers what authority has been given him, to teach, to heal, to judge; the
freedom to shun magnificence, at least in its earthly sense.
At the end
of the Gospel, Jesus will tell his disciples that all authority is his and use
that to send them out to baptize and teach all people in his name; not to
dominate them in power, but lead them into the true freedom of messy loving
intimacy. That’s after he’s shown his kingship on a donkey, after he’s shown
his love on a cross. After he’s shown his divine sonship in remembering who he
is, resisting all distractions, all temptations, remembering that he is like
God, and so (even if only in a different sense) are we, who he was sent to
love, to teach, to guide, to heal and to save.
In Lent,
our fasting and self-denial can teach us that being like God doesn’t mean
having the power to meet every little nagging voice of a need that distracts.
Our prayer and our almsgiving, our service of and love for God and for
neighbor, remind us that we are made like our God, not to exert our power, but
to love like him. And Jesus makes us righteous, says Adam’s forgetfulness won’t
claim us, his own love will.
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